


Children Cannot Stay Children

by Anonymous



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Because He Is A Responsible Parent, Bruce Wayne Doesn't Want His Nine Year Old To Be A Vigilane, Dick Grayson Wants To Be Robin, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Robin Dick Grayson, Se.N, Useless and Uncomplicated Fluff, unnecessary fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25914349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dick wasn't anything like him, and Bruce wasn't ever going to let him be.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66
Collections: Anonymous





	Children Cannot Stay Children

“It's only going to become more complicated now, I fear,” whispered Alfred in passing as he whizzed past Bruce, perched on the kitchen stool with a triple shot espresso in hand.

Still blearily blinking himself awake, Bruce didn't have the foggiest idea what his butler turned father figure could possibly mean by that, and instead of admitting that, took a long sip from his mug.

Alfred began adding fresh raspberries to the cake, baked freshly this morning before Bruce had returned from patrol. “After all,” the man continued, not minding his charge's hunched and sorely sleep deprived state as he merrily took advantage of the silence. “Our boy is nearly ten now. Children cannot stay children forever.”

The twinge of fear was slow to rise and even slower to form itself into words, hiding behind a layer of confusion that wasn't _wholly_ a lie. Even if Bruce wasn't sure what Alfred was going on about, thoughts about the future and of Dick growing up always did feed his irrational anxieties.

Bruce set his mug down softly on the bench-top and watched Alfred carefully place the final raspberry on the outer edge of the cake, looking pleased.

“Ten is hardly any different than nine,” he began by way of rebuttal, feeling oddly owlish as he attempted to blink away the exhaustion that always came after pulling an all-nighter in the cowl.

Alfred turned a smirk on him that was rather more knowing than Bruce would have liked. “We shall see, Master Bruce,” he said with a twitch of his moustache and the faintest hint of a gleam in his eye. “After all, I recall ten to be a rather interesting year for yourself. Filled with a great new many challenges for me.”

Strangely, Bruce was almost taken aback. He wondered if perhaps he should be offended by the almost cryptic statement; a shroud over what it truly was.

“Alfred,” he blurted, startled, and with half a question on his lips. “Are you saying I was a brat at ten?”

“Oh not so, Master Bruce,” Alfred waved him off with a flick of his wrist and a husky old chuckle before making his way back to the fridge, cake in hand. “You were much worse than that. A downright devil, I would say.”

Bruce _felt_ the blood drain from his face. For a brief few moments, his extremities felt numb. Alfred was not one to mince words, he knew from previous experience, but he truly hadn't thought himself to be quite so awful. Bruce's stomach rolled over and in its place a bubbling pool of unsettling nausea burned there.

“Let us hope that our boy isn't quite as much of a handful, hm?” Alfred finished, patting him on the forearm as he passed, flitting out of the kitchen. “While I feel as though it would be rather amusing to have _you_ be on the receiving end of a drunken phone-call in a few years time, I do so hope that Richard makes better life choices. I don't think we need Batman picking him up off the side-walk. Cleaning vomit off the suit is rather a hassle, you know.”

With that, Alfred was gone, and Bruce didn't think he could stomach any more of his coffee today, even as he mournfully stared down into his half-empty mug and saw only his sorry visage reflected back.

Ten wasn't really as bad as Alfred was making it out to be… was it? No. No, Bruce had to believe that even if it _was,_ Dick would be better than him. Dick was a smart boy who made smart choices.

Though his stomach roiled against it, Bruce downed the rest of his coffee in one go and pushed away from the bench.

_Dick wasn't anything like him, and Bruce wasn't ever going to let him be._

* * *

There was a familiar boy on the roof. Familiar in a way that made Batman feel horribly faint. The boy was staring him down with more determination than his knobbly, shaky knees clearly felt.

“I'm not afraid of you!” he shouted from halfway across the roof, chin jutted out bull-headedly. Batman could tell it was a lie.

The costume was… quite frankly, atrocious. The child― _horribly, horribly, familiar child_ _―_ looked like a neon traffic light. It was a wonder that Dick didn't truly know how to sew because Bruce didn't deceive himself into thinking the costume wouldn't have sequins if he could.

“I know you don't eat children,” Dick continued, shouting so loud that Bruce wondered if the boy had awoken any of the residents inside the apartment complex they were standing atop. Also. _Eat children?_ “Benny Miller says that you do, but I know you don't.”

Under the cowl, Bruce couldn't help but smirk. Despite the fact that he was still rather furious that Dick was out of bed and running across the rooftops in an outfit that could barely be considered more than a swimsuit with a cape. _Why the heck was his_ _nine_ _-year-old out here anyway?_

“Oh, really,” he said instead, resting against the water-tank with his arms folded across his chest. “And how do you know that, exactly?” He gestured out with one hand before folding it back against his torso.

Dick suddenly looked less sure. But to his credit, he still spoke with barely and tremble in his voice at all.

“I… I read an article about you, in the paper,” he returned. “They said you only hurt bad guys.”

Batman nodded. “It's true,” he replied. “Though I try not to hurt them too, if I can help it. Mostly I try to make sure people are following the rules and being good citizens. And why are _you_ out here?”

Dick puffed up his chest. “I want to become a hero too,” he said, to which Bruce had to suppress a snort. “My Ma and Da were hurt by some bad guys and I want to make sure other kids can get justice if bad guys hurt their parents too.”

The effort of raising his eyebrow beneath the cowl was a futile gesture, but it happened anyway.

“That's very noble of you, Dick,” he replied, not noticing the slip up at first as he pushed away from the water-tank and slowly made his way closer. “But your _ten_ and I'm sure your guardian doesn't know where you are.” _Well, Bruce hadn't known, up until ten minutes ago at least._

Under the little handmade domino mask, Dick's eyes visibly narrowed.

“How… how do you know my name?”

Bruce panicked. _Oh dear._

“You're Bruce Wayne's ward, are you not? I am… acquainted with the man,” he lied, feeling the sweat gather up beneath his brow.

Surprise registered on Dick's face. “You know B?”

Batman nodded, stiffly. “Sure do. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't know you're out here attempting to fight crime, no? So why don't we put you back to bed, hm?”

Dick stomped a singular foot. “But I want to _help,”_ he whined.

Bruce came to a stop before the boy and then came down to rest on one knee, tilting his head just a fraction upwards to make eye-contact.

“How about this,” he said, attempting to mollify. “How about you find other ways to help kids first? If by the time you reach eighteen _then_ I will teach you how to be a vigilante. I'll teach you everything I know, okay?”

Dick looked angry, though Bruce wasn't exactly surprised.

“Don't you think your guardian wouldn't worry about you? What if he woke up and saw you out of bed? What do you think he would do? Don't you think he would panic?”

Dick's face fell a little at that.

“I guess,” he acquiesced, looking both crestfallen and just a little pouty. “I suppose he would.”

Batman rested a gauntleted hand upon his shoulder.

“I know he would,” he returned.

Dick looked as though he was mulling that over. Then, “You promise I can become a vigilante when I am eighteen?”

Batman nodded.

Dick grinned. “I'm ten tomorrow,” he announced proudly. “So that means only eight years left to go!”

Bruce was sure his blood pressure rose at just the thought. “Then, I suppose I shall see you again in eight years.”

 _It's only going to become more complicated now, I fear,_ whispered the ghost of Alfred's voice in his ear as he took Dick's little hand in his and hoisted the boy onto his hip, shooting the grappling line in the vague direction of home. Maybe ten really was different than nine.

Dick's laugh was like a chime when they whizzed through the air.

 _Whatever,_ thought Bruce. _Maybe the future wouldn't be all bad. After all, children could not stay children forever, but perhaps there were things to look forward to anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this piece of fluff, 🙇 I hope you enjoyed it!


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